King and Lionheart
by Ms. AtomicBomb
Summary: Gráinne, the daughter of the High King, has convinced a loyal knight of the Fianna to run away with her.Even if Diarmuid had never intended to betray the Fianna, he now has to face the wrath of his liege, Fionn. Quite literally spellbound, the star-crossed lovers must journey through Ireland to gain audience with the High King, despite Diarmuid's risk of losing his knightly status.
1. The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne I

Breaking twigs and scratching her legs with branches, she kept on mumbling things under her breath. It was so dark that she could only see a couple of feet in front of herself. There was no moon in the sky and only stars tried their best to compare to its brightness. "I saw no need of disposing of the horse." She hissed. Her feet ached and she was sure she would soon get blisters. Her heart was beating crazily between her rib cage and she was panting loudly. "Diarmuid." She called as she was following him through the thick forest. "Why did we get rid of the horse." It was more of a statement and not a question.

"We needed to let Aoife go. She was more of a distraction. Come on darling, you must surely understand." Diarmuid whispered as he continued to run past the many trees.

Gráinne grunted and continued to follow him, it was tiring and she was not so swift on her feet as he was. "This is ridiculous, what kind of princess runs in the shadows like this?" The mumble was low so he could not hear her. "I cannot go any further." She explained and she stopped next to a tree to rest.

Diarmuid stopped in his tracks as he turned to her and let out a soft sigh. "If you love me so, we must keep running. Fionn will be able to find us if we do not hurry."

"Yes, but they have horses and we do not -because someone let our horse run away!" She grunted.

"Darling, I know that you are exhausted but we must keep moving." He mumbled and took her small delicate hand in his own. "Let us keep moving."

"But I cannot." She whined. "My feet."

Diarmuid bit his bottom lip and wiped the sweat from his brow and hoisted her up onto his back. He loved her -or so he thought -and he did not want to let her go. They had only met that afternoon and with the second sentence she spoke, he fell for her. How cruel was their fate that she was to wed Fionn; his king. Now he was in pursuit of them, ready to take their lives at any second. How had he even come to the decision of running away with her? That he surely did not know. There must have been a demon inside of him to drive him to that decision. He would never betray his king, not even for love, so how was it that this was any exception?

Upon finding an abandoned coyote's den; he hurried into it and ushered her inside. "It is safe here." He mumbled as he turned to her and cupped her face. "We will begin to move again on the morrow." He hushed.

"I haven't the slightest idea of why I have arrived here." She mumbled. "My dress is torn and my life has fallen into chaos. What am I to do?"

"Darling; I promise you, I will make your life better than it was before, but only for today we must sleep here." Diarmuid kissed her forehead. The night was freezing cold and she could feel the winter coming closer to them than Fionn.

"I know, I am simply distressed, forgive me." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. The den was stuffy and they only had little space to move about inside, but she felt comfortable in his arms and she was able to fall asleep.

_You shall not sleep or stay in the same place twice for I will hunt you down until your heads are detached from your bodies._

Her scream echoed in the den and possibly in the forest as well, she quickly brought her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. The stern face of the man flickered in her mind every time she closed her eyes. Rapidly, she turned her head towards the right, checking if she had awoken Diarmuid, but much to her surprise; he did not sleep next to her. Immediately, a wave of panic washed over her; had her Gease failed her? Had he left her here for dead to return to Fionn and sell her out?

Twigs cracked and leaves crinkled under someone's feet as they approached the den hurriedly. The man with the beauty mark rushed in and saw that she was worried. "My love, what is worrying you?" He hushed. "I feared that Fionn had found you." His strong arms wrapped around her and she returned the gesture. "What is it that has made you awaken?"

"A nightmare, Diarmuid, a simple nightmare. I think we should keep moving." She hushed into his chest.

"I have prepared breakfast, and then we can leave the den."

"Yes. That would be preferred." Her brown hair fell upon her face as she nodded. "What will we be eating?" She asked as he led her out of the den.

"Quill. I was able to catch it early in the morning." Diarmuid helped her up to her feet properly and gave her the food he had managed to make.

Gráinne sat by the fire and closed her eyes as she took the quill in her hands. "Thank you." She mumbled softly.

"You're welcome, my love." He smiled lightly and took her hand in his. "I am afraid as well, but we can only overcome this together. I was thinking to see my father and he could aid us in this problem. We must travel to Bóinne."

"To Bóinne? But darling, that's too far away to reach on foot."

Diarmuid laughed lightly and she gave him a mild glare, how could he be laughing in a situation like this one? "No; we will drop by a near by village and get a horse, then we will go to Bóinne."

Gráinne had barely touched the Quill until it was time for them to leave the den; she left the Quill on the floor and began to follow him past the trees once more. They had probably been running for three hours and only rested for six, as a princess she had never had such a night and she never wanted to have one like that again. Yet by what was going on, she felt that it was what was going to end up happening more than thrice.

As they ran through the forest once more Gráinne took yet another break, one that Diarmuid had gone unknown of. He continued past the tall thick trees chopping branches down with his lances so that it would clear a path for his lover. That was until he ran straight into Oisín. He was quick to back away slowly seeing that Oisín was not alone and was accompanied by Lughaid. _This is it_, he thought to himself,_ Fionn has captured Gráinne and I. _It had not even been a day. Not a single day and he was already cornered.

"Gráinne, run." He turned around only to see that she was not there. His heart began to beat insanely and he shook slightly. "What have you done to her?" He turned to Oisín.

"You have been all alone since I have seen you. I have not touched her the slightest bit." Oisín explained as he drew his sword. "You can be pardoned, Fionn has promised to pardon you if you return now. He knows you would not betray the Fianna with out reason."

"Where is Gráinne?" He hissed.

"I have said that I have not laid a single hand upon her."

"Maybe not you but one of the Fianna have taken her from me."

"Why have you betrayed us?" It was Lughaid who spoke this time around. "The Fianna want to trust you. We are practically brothers and now all I want is to aid you, but you must trust us as well."

"How can I trust the people that are hunting me as if I am some sort of hare? Are you not betraying your Uncle, Lughaid and you, your father, Oisín." Diarmuid stood prepared to fight people he used to call his friends.

"Fionn has promised-"

"I cannot return. If Gráinne and I cannot be accepted together than I cannot go back." He interrupted Oisín's loud voice.

"Then run! Run because there is so much we can do to help you. Run, and you must make sure that you will never return." Oisín spoke hurriedly and in a worried tone. "Although I too have lost my loves to you, I know this is not how you really are. There must be something that she is doing to you. So save yourself and make it so that when we so find you once more, we will not and it will only be Gráinne that we meet."

"My sincere thanks, Oisín, and to you as well, Lughaid." Diarmuid smiled softly. "I owe my life to you both."

"Your lady has returned." Oisín spoke and looked past the male.

"Oisín, Lughaid, stay away." Gráinne stated and stuck her hand out towards them.

"You are not the only to posses magic, Gráinne, so do not dare to make a move on us. We are only trying to help you." Lughaid glared at the female. "Do as Oisín has said and leave to wherever you deem safe. But as a warning, leave through the North because it is the only place that the Fianna has yet to surround."

Gráinne slowly lowered her hand and looked at Diarmuid who approached her. "Can we really trust Fionn's only son and nephew?"

"They are my loyal friends and I trust them, so I feel it is necessary for you to do the same." Diarmuid smiled down at her. "Now, we should do as they say and run away."

"But I do not trust them; they could kill us at any second." She grumbled.

Oisín barked at her. "Maybe you, but not Diarmuid."

Gráinne gave a warning look to the males before Diarmuid's grip was strong on her hand to urge her so they could leave. "I only hope that they are not deceiving us, or I promise to have them beheaded."

"Are we too not to be beheaded, my dear, they do this to help me, so please understand." Diarmuid held her hand tightly and they began to run once more. She was truly tired of all the running and he was practically dragging her through the grass and trees, her dress was torn and muddied so she was obviously upset, but she was trying her best to keep up with the male. "We must cut the dress." He spoke as he stopped her.

"What?" Her brows furrowed and she looked at him with disbelief.

"It is obviously slowing you down, so we must make it so that you are able to move. Cutting it to the knee keeps you proper and makes you much more flexible, darling. So stand still and let my lances help you out." He offered and she shook her head.

"No! I cannot ruin this dress; it comes from Rome, what kind of girl allows for her dress to be cut so brutally?" Gráinne stopped him from cutting the dress.

"I highly doubt that a dress imported from Rome can save your life, my love, we must cut it if you want more dresses from Rome." Diarmuid shook his head and sighed, taking her hand from his lance and preparing to cut through the dress with ease. After all, it was only fabric and not flesh. She squeaked as he made the lance cut through the satin and she really wanted to stop him but there was nothing she could do now. "Let's keep moving."

As Lughaid had promised, there were no Knights of the Fianna by the North exit of the woods and they were met by a small village where they were able to obtain a horse with a simple, empty promise of gold coins.


	2. The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne II

**¬Author's Note¬**

**Hello and welcome to King and Lionheart! This story is going to be pretty cool because not only am I able to write and capture the characters in this era and time but it will have lots of fighting scenes and adventures. I only want to say that the story will take place in Ireland for the first 4 to five chapters or simply three, and then we have the plot actually starting to move! Yay! So enjoy and have a great evening! I hope to hear from you in the reviews :)**

**Sincerely,**

**Ms. AtomicBomb**

* * *

><p>The beautiful river made the female sigh in relief and happiness. She was helped down from the black horse by Diarmuid and she ran towards the river, dipping her feet in the cold water. Although the winter was near, she felt it to be refreshing and calming. "Oh! I simply love Bóinne." She smiled as she looked over her shoulder towards him.<p>

"I am glad that you love it." He began. "My father can help us with Fionn so it would be best to find him, for we can spend the night here." Diarmuid smiled softly and stayed at the edge of the river watching as she jumped about the shallow end of it.

"Why won't you come in?" Gràinne asked as she tilted her head to the right and blinked.

Diarmuid made his smile a little brighter and shook his head, "Not right now, I have to be more on my toes because Fionn can be anywhere."

"Will we always be running from Fionn?" Her brows furrowed as she walked through the water to get closer to him.

"I am afraid so." His voice was a whisper and he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her into a hug.

"I think that my father can help us." She wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Aengus will not hesitate to aid me, but I worry of your father."

"You can trust him. Her cares too much for me." She was tilting her head up to view him and his expressions. "I am so sure that he will make you a Knight too!" Gràinne squeezed the male.

Diarmuid's smile seemed to drop and he looked at the Bóinne river, watching as the water calmly ran past them. It was the worst decision he had ever made; betraying the Fianna. It hurt his spirit to have abandoned his vocation, everything he had ever wanted in life was found in Knighthood and now he lost all he knew. His grip tightened around the female that was currently hugging him as he felt his heart yearn for his title. Fionn had stripped him of it when they had decided to run away and now he wished that Fionn would be merciful. Somehow let them live in his lands and let Diarmuid continue being the great Knight he is, but it was not ever going to happen. There were still unanswered questions that lingered in his mind, the fact that he could never answer them made him irritated. How on earth had the foster son of Aengus and a _loyal_ knight of the Fianna gotten himself into such a mess? Not even the Dagda could tell him, whether it be to keep him from harm or simply because he too did not know.

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><p>The door of the small lodge creaked open and a fairly young man stood still. Hair that of red flames and skin so fair he almost looked like an angel, his eyes nothing more than a deep ocean blue and he stood straight, looking upon Diarmuid before even speaking a single word. "Diarmuid? Why have you come?" His sweet voice inquired.<p>

"Father, there is no other way I can say this..." Diarmuid drifted, "Fionn wants my head."

Aengus furrowed his brows and was taken aback by the other male's comment. "Your uncle would never." The son of the Dagda shook his head in disbelief. "Why? I do not understand, my son."

"Gràinne, father, Gràinne and I have run away." The Irish warrior licked his lips and stepped aside for Aengus to get a view of the young lady.

Immediately, Aengus brought his hand up to his mouth as he gasped. "What have you done, Diarmuid?" He choked and let the couple inside the lodge. "What in -what have you gotten yourself into? Are you insane? You are part of the Fianna, why would you-"

"Father, I love her." Diarmuid reasoned as he took a hold of Gràinne's hand. She stood still and looked at her soon to be father-in-law with a pleading expression.

"Is your love for her stronger than your loyalty to Fionn? To your King? To your uncle?" He glared at the female that stood next to his adoptive son.

"Father," Diarmuid took a deep sigh, "If I am here with her then it means that-"

"No! I know you much too well, why have you betrayed Fionn?"

"Because she loves me and I fell in love with the wrong person, father, can you blame me for listening to my heart?"

"I do blame your mind. She does not love you, Diarmuid, you of all people should know that." Aengus spoke as if Gràinne was not standing in the same room as them. "It is that cursed beauty mark of yours! She does not love you!"

"I do so!" Gràinne barked at the man.

"You have heard her speak; she loves me and I love her." The young man's face turned stern and he looked at Aengus in a way he had never done; some sort of hatred in his amber orbs.

"Young lady! Do not dare speak back to me! Get out of this house immediately and wait outside." The son of the Gods hissed.

"You cannot treat me like that! I am a princess!"

"You are a fugitive in these lands! I can call for Fionn and he could come in less than a second and take you away." There was silence after Aengus growled at her to leave the house and she proceeded to do so, letting go of Diarmuid's hand and giving him a kiss on the cheek before exiting the house.

"What has come over you?" Aengus made his foster son sit down on one of the many wooden chairs.

"You cannot speak to my lover like you have done, father. I will only pardon you this once."

"Diarmuid, tell me; what has come over you? You should know that Gràinne does not actually love you; surely you must, so why is it that you have ran away with her?"

"Because I love her."

"Do not jest with me! How can you fall in love with the betrothed of your king? That is nothing like you."

"I have! I have fallen for her."

"You cannot out run Fionn and the Fianna. He will not stop until he has both your heads on pikes and your body parts are scattered over the many villages he reigns to show the people what happens when they disobey their king. Do you want to soil your name and reputation for a simple woman who is under a spell? You would not be the cause of an innocent girl's death."

"Why do you not believe me? We have agreed to live together."

"You care not if she dies because of you?"

"She loves me! And I love her; we would go to the end of the world for one another." Diarmuid would have never said that if he was in his right mind.

A hurried knock on the door interrupted them and the princess stumbled inside. "Fionn has arrived!" She called as she ran towards the Lancer, who -on instinct -drew his lances from thin air. "Where are we to go?" She frantically began to walk about the room even as the barking of Sceolan and Bran was heard. "We must leave!" She yelled.

Aengus felt his heart drop; it was either save his son or let them be executed for their crimes against the crown. "Bóinne will aid you." He gulped and looked at the young man he raised. "I will do my absolute best to speak with Fionn, so go into the river and give her this token, she will give you a safe passage for a single day. You must return to this lodge to retrieve Gràinne in the morrow. Hopefully by then, these matters will be resolved." He handed the other male a small coin.

"I will not leave without her!"

"Diarmuid, I promise to keep her safe! Now do as I say."

"Thank you father." Diarmuid gave a stern smile as Aengus moved a shelf that opened a hole in the wall for him to leave through the back of the lodge and right into the river.

"Go!" He ushered him out to the escape route and hugged his son goodbye. "I have only done this for you. Beware of the boars!" He warned once again to the son of Donn before closing of the hidden passage way and proceeding to hide the young female.

Diarmuid ran out to the river and noticed as the Fianna came into view; they had the house surrounded. The grip on his lances became tighter and then he ran straight into the swarm of Knights. He was going to fight for his lover and it would be the only way he would earn Fionn's trust once more.

His lances were quick to collide with the long sword of one of the men he used to command little more than a day ago. Never had he thought that it would come to that conclusion, a Knight fighting his own country for a woman that he used to believe were unnecessary in his life after the beauty mark was placed upon him by a wicked woman. Quickly he was surrounded by the Knights and he was trying his best to keep up with the many attacks.

"Please! Let me go!" He called out to the men.

"I want him dead!" The deep voice of Fionn danced over the clashing weapons.

Diarmuid could only do so much to withstand the assaults of his fellow comrades and he thought it best to flee; the point was to distract them anyways. A swift jump made him land atop a solder's head and he was off! His feet gliding over the many knights and his lances close to his body. He hoped that his father was keeping Gràinne safe in the lodge and he did trust his father, but he was only afraid.

Fleeing into the woods near the river and making the entire troop follow after him. "How could you coward? What man are you to flee with my fiancée?" Fionn's voice echoed through the forest, causing birds to fly and the forest to become afraid of the band of knights that invaded the lands. The king's voice made Diarmuid's breath hitch and heart race. If Loughiad was doing Fionn the favour to hunt his cousin down, he would surely be capture at any given moment, but he only prayed for Loughaid to stall.

The water droplets invaded the trees as the male ran past them, trying to keep as far from the Fianna as possible but close enough to have them follow him further into the forest to buy time for Aengus to transport his lover to a safer place. He was surely at a disadvantage, besides the fact that he was out numbered, the Fianna knew him much to well; they knew his skills, his strengths and worst of all -his weaknesses.

The young man ran through the forest, dodging the many arrows that wished to drag him to the floor along with themselves and making sure to keep far from weapons that wanted to pierce through him. Trees were both advantages and disadvantages, but he tried to use them to the best of his ability.

Arrows, bolts and rain drops were mixed together as they fell from the sky and poured down around him. His feet were as swift as they could ever be, even if his bones and muscles ached he tried his best to push himself; this was for Grainne and for his future. He was going to succeed and he would find her again. They would only be away from each other for less than a night, he was sure he would see her in the morrow, or so he hoped.


	3. The Barking of the Hounds

The rain was causing for a more challenging escape on the male's part. It was pouring heavily and it only made him worry that they would be able to capture him and trap him somewhere far, possibly to torture him. His heart was practically ready to jump out of his body whilst he tried to supress his heavy breathing so that they would not find him. The barking of Sceolan and Bran became louder and louder that he feared the end would be near. It was a surprise to him that the Fianna had yet to catch him, considering they were on horseback and he had no other mode of transportation, besides foot. The growling and rumbling of the clouds mixed with the barks of the -previously human -hounds and light shined every now and again as lightening hit the earth from the Heavens. The sounds were making his head pound in rage and exasperation, he disliked the loud surroundings.

Mud covered him as he made his way through the trees, rain dripping from his face and making it rather hard for Diarmuid to see and breathe. He coughed as the water entered his trachea and he tried his best to keep hidden up on a tree, he had somehow managed to climb. There was no way they would miss him, but he was extremely exhausted and he could not possibly keep running from the Fianna. The lances in his hands were starting to get slippery from the water and he hoped that the dogs would over look him due to the chaos that the world was currently in. The arrows began to break through the air as they were aimed at him, and he took the chance to run through the tree branches after having his Lances disappear. Feet rapidly gliding atop thick branches as he jumped from tree to tree; as dangerous as it was, it was the only way to save himself. The cries of men filled his ears and he closed his eyes as he jumped for another branch, one much too far for him.

His right foot slipped from the branch and he began to feel reality as he felt his heart stop and arrows swerved past him. A delicate hand caught him and with a quick tug upwards, he was able to steady himself on the thin tree branch.

A beautiful red-haired women brought a finger to her plump red lips. "Shhh." There was a wicked smile on her face as she fell backwards from the branch. He could not help but call out to her as she fell, yet for some reason the arrows had ceased and no words left his throat. A summersault and she landed on her feet.

The red-head wore a rather revealing green dress and she sat at the foot of the tree that Diarmuid stood upon as the Fianna approached her. "Have you seen a man?" Fionn's horse stepped towards the beautiful seductress.

Her smile widened, and she laughed. "A man? I see many."

"Milady, other than the Fianna." The leader raised his voice a little more.

"Other than the Fianna? Not exactly." Her head shook and she reached for the horse.

"Youth?" Lughaid inquired. "What are you doing in these woods? You have been expelled have you not?"

"Lughaid, it has been a rather long while, how goes it?"

"We are not here to make idle chit-chat, let us pass as we overlook your unwelcomed stay."

"You needn't be stingy. I believe that it would be good to talk about our last encounter." The female smirked triumphantly as she raised her hand and pointed it at the Fianna. She had said something under her breath and a swarm of locusts came from behind her, attacking the band of Knights. The horses whined and within a couple of seconds, both the rain and the Fianna had disappeared for her sight, and Diarmuid climbed down from the high Scots Pine to look her in the eye.

"Youth..." He mumbled.

The female turned towards him with a seductive smile on her face. "Diarmuid, how long has it been since our last encounter? I see no one has been able to take _that_ off of you." She reached for his cheek and caressed the beauty mark. "I must be a great sorceress." She laughed melodiously and stood on her toes to kiss him. "Sadly, that _child_ has gotten you under a spell as well, what a brat."

Diarmuid gently pushed her a way, his features had hardened and he gave her a glare. "Why did you-"

"Because, my love," She brought him closer to her once again, running a hand through his dark tresses, "it was unfair that I loved you and you did not love me back, so I wanted you to feel the pain of fake love." Her pupils narrowed into slits within the expanse of her green irises. She turned to leave, her garments swirling around her as if suspended in enchantment. "Well, I am sure you know this by now, but stay away from the boars. Oh and please send my regards to Aengus; tell him I say hello and that he must catch the fish before it reaches the pond." And with a blink of an eye, she had vanished.

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><p>It was late upon his arrival back to Aengus' lodge, and he was drenched in sweat and rain water, his armour covered in mud and his face and hair a complete mess.<p>

"Diarmuid!" A sweet voice called and the female he had run away with ran towards him, wrapping her arms around his torso and hugging him tightly. "I had feared that Fionn had captured you. Thank goodness you're safe."

"I am fine, darling." He wrapped an arm around her, for the other had been injured by a tree branch. "I am glad that my father has kept his promise."

"I would never betray my son, do you understand?" Aengus leaned on one of the beams inside the house. "I see that you've encountered Youth."

"Youth? She came to you?" Gráinne looked up at the male a little irritated as she let her arms fall from his torso.

Diarmuid nodded a little hesitantly and blinked a couple of times. "Yes... She told me that Aengus must catch the fish before it reaches the pond. I do not understand what it might possibly mean, but I am guessing that you know, father."

"The fish has already reached the pond, and there is nothing I can possibly do about it." Aengus grumbled and crossed his arms. "You must go now, I cannot keep you under my wing any longer. This is where you must leave me. Go to the High King. He will be able to aid you in your troubles, but it would be best if a god is not involved in human affairs."

"Fine, we will leave, but please give us your blessing, father." Diarmuid stepped towards the god.

"I cannot do so. I do not exactly approve of it, and therefore there is nothing I can do about the fish." He shrugged and turned. "Go to Cormac Mac Airt. Hopefully he can give you the blessing. I will give you but one more token for the river."

Contrary to what Aengus had promised, the Bóinne had held them for less than a day this time around. Upon their realization of the tragic event, they did not know where they had ended up. Diarmuid did not recognize the landscape at all, and he was sure he had seen all of Fionn's lands during his adventures as a Knight, which meant that they were no longer in his territory. Their journey to any village was long and they never did find one, Gràinne was upset that they had yet to find a village that would give her a warm bed and good food.

"I am hungry." She whined and they stopped so that she would sit on a log. "Do you remember that garden we passed by on our way here? May we return and have a plum or two? Or maybe some rowan berries? Please darling?"

"But the Searbhán, we cannot possibly get past him." The male reasoned.

"He was kind to us when we spoke. A mere three berries, please?"

Diarmuid nodded and kissed the young girl's forehead. "Alright, my love." Upon their return to the Garden, the Searbhán smiled at the human with kindness. The giant stood at a good nine feet, almost twice Gràinne's size, both vertically and horizontally. He was leaning on his iron club the way a gravedigger would lean on his shovel. A single eye was set in the center of a broad forehead. Thick scars marred his equally thick skin, but a kind light graced his eye, and his lips were gently smiling. Like his smile, the garden shone brightly, with the promise of a bright and lovely day. Full orchards and bushes and golden fields spanned the area, splashed here and there with vibrant colors of blossoms. It looked like the garden of Eden.

"May I please have some rowan berries?" Diarmuid gulped.

The one-eyed giant scratched his head and let out a hearty laugh, as if Diarmuid had said the joke of the century. "No, silly human, they are not for you."

Diarmuid began,"My lover—"

"Gràinne?" The Searbhán gave a sidelong glance to the princess. "The one to put you under a spell? What of her?"

"As a pregnant lady does, she too craves certain foods. May you spare but only three berries? Please?" Diarmuid pleaded.

"No," the Searbhán hissed.

"Please!"

"No!" And with that response, Diarmuid was prepared to take the giant down. Adrenaline began coursing through his system. It was hard for him to do so with only his lances, always opting for attacks every now and again, sometimes defense, but the monster would outsmart him. After all, he was a mere human against a legendary beast.

Like all battles, instinct and years of training and combat took over, and there was no time to think. Time both slowed to a stop, yet somehow everything would happen all at body's primal wish consisted of only two things; survival, and triumph, to destroy his assailant. But even so, the giant had lived longer, and outmatched him in strength, size, and sometimes, as much as Diarmuid loathed to admit it, wit. Diarmuid didn't take long to realize his spears were ineffective facing this style of combat. He began to take more hits. The giant raised his club for a final blow.

But he was wide open.

Diarmuid slashed at his chest, but the giant slapped away the lance. Diarmuid used his second spear to cut away at the offending hand that wielded the club.

Ichor welled from the wound, and the Searbhán roared in pain and dropped his weapon, and it rolled away harmlessly through the grass. The roar itself was deafening, and something about it made the hairs on Diarmuid's neck stand on end. It was not at all a human or civil sound. Losing his weapon didn't hinder the giant much though, and if it did, he didn't show it.

So continued the struggle.

Diarmuid didn't see it, as he was focused solely on his assailant. But Gràinne had managed to heft the club, and tripped the Searbhán in his own gardens and deliver the final blow with the giant's own Iron Club. Ichor matted his strands of hair where the club had hit.

The two looked down upon the unmoving body. Gràinne's chest heaved with adrenaline and the effort expended. Diarmuid wasn't proud of felling the giant, but they'd had no choice. Food was, in fact, necessary for their survival.

And, Diarmuid told himself, if he had to choose the giant's survival or their own survival, he'd of course choose theirs.

They had come too far for anything otherwise.

* * *

><p>A bag full of berries (which must have been enchanted somehow, as they never rotted) for the expecting Gràinne lasted until they reached their destination; the Tara, months later. Gràinne smiled upon seeing the castle she grew up in, rubbing her now prominent belly. They were safe–or so she thought. She was unpresentable when she entered the palace, her clothes tattered and most certainly unfit for a princess, with Diarmuid close behind as he kept on look-out for any of the Fianna. It was embarrassing when Gràinne entered the council room without being announced and without permission. Cormac looked upon his daughter and made some sort of face of disgust. He stood from his throne and excused himself and hurried towards his child. He pulled her out of the council room and dragged her to another, with Diarmuid following them.<p>

"Father! Fionn is after me! He has been hunting us down for months!" She grumbled and pouted.

Cormac, the son of Airt, glared at her. "This is the man?" He glanced at Diarmuid. "Get him out of my castle! Ireland is in civil and political unrest because of him! Get him away from my sight this instant!" The High King ordered and Diarmuid gave a questioning look to his lover.

"Father! You cannot do that! I love him!" Gràinne replied and threw her arms around her father so that he would sympathize with her. "I am carrying his child, father, an heir to the throne that my sisters could not give!"

"A bastard! Not an heir! Gaurds! Get her to her chambers and ensure she cannot leave!" Cormac stated and the guards did so, leaving him with Diarmuid. "You scum, what did you do to my daughter?" He hissed.

"I have done nothing!" Diarmuid began his defense. "We have fallen in love, my High King, and that is all that has happened." The male spoke as he dropped to his knees as a sign of respect.

"Do not lie to me! You have made her fall under your spell!"

"I have done nothing of the sort!"

"Exiled from Ireland! You are exiled from Ireland!" The High King barked and growled similar to Sceolan and Bran. "Leave this country immediately."

"My King-"

"No words from you! A traitor to the crown and to Ireland. The only reason I spare you, is for the sake of my daughter! Now be gone!" It was then that the guards held the young male back and dragged him like a lunatic out of the palace. He kicked and screamed to see his beloved once more, but he was only thrown out of the castle, with a bounty on his head.

* * *

><p>The amber orbs of Diarmuid fluttered to a close as blood trickled from his mouth. The last he saw was the light being filtered by the trees. He smiled, although he hated his life. What a horrible collection of events; his life was horrid, it was pitiful. Crimson red liquid puddled around him as he lay dying. So, that was what both Youth and Aengus had tried to warn him of; <em>the Boar.<em> There was a incoherent chuckle and he took a deep shaky breath, why was it a boar that would kill him? That was something he was so sure he would never understand, he was dying after all. The pain was unbearable, he was sure that this was the end of his life. It had been such a horrible one, but he would miss it.

_"Please, let me in." An ugly woman mumbled._

_"Yes, come in. Take my bed, it is right by the fire."_

He would have never imagined that it would be Youth.

_"You must surely marry me."_

_"I cannot."_

_"You must."  
><em>

_"I am sorry."_

And he earned that beauty mark that ultimately led to his downfall. Then Gràinne fell in love with him.

_"Even the water that splashes upon my legs is more adventurous than you are." She teased._

And now... he was dying because of the cursed mark on his cheek.

* * *

><p>A loud gasp as he tried to fill his lungs with air once more. His lungs lusted for the oxygen and he was panting heavily to feed their desire. His vision was a blur until the figure came into view; Aengus. Diarmuid pressured the place he had been punctured, but there was no gash, no blood springing from his body. "W-what happened?" He questioned, still feeling hazy and exhausted.<p>

"Fionn got the boar to hurt you. I'm guessing you wish for an explanation."

"Why would- Why would Fionn want me dead?" Diarmuid's brows knitted together with such hurt and betrayal.

"I was able to get that off of you too, huh?"

"What? Father, I don't understand." The male wheezed. "Why am I still alive?"

"I saved you, and you had been in love with Gràinne for nearly a year now... She has had your child..." Aengus helped the other male to his feet. "Don't exert yourself, I couldn't use a lot of my magic for this was a very delicate procedure.

"Gràinne? What? Fionn's betrothed? Has my child?" Diarmuid was bewildered and still in disbelief. It did not make any sense, why had Fionn tried to kill him? Why had he left with Gràinne? That was nothing like him.


	4. The Hardships of a Knight

"So you want to be one of my knights?" A very petite man lifted his eyebrow and gazed upon the male. He must have had confidence and guts to even appear in front of the king during a show put up for his entertainment.

The monarch himself was much smaller, a dwarf in comparison to Diarmuid's stature. Well, if he had to say, more elf-like. The man may have been small, but he was slender and lean, with muscles that were probably hidden under the heavy armor. Even if he hadn't had combat training, he must have been quite fit_—_wearing armor of that size was no easy burden.

"Yes, my Prince." He stood up from the bowing position he was previously in. The strand of black hair that did not obey the rest was dangling in front of his face -irritating him a little -while he kept his gaze on the male before him.

"_King,_" the small man corrected.

"My King." He repeated, maybe it embarrassed him that he had made a mistake in front of the huge crowd in the arena, but he tried to brush off his light blush and uneasiness. Though, the king did look very young or childish-like to even be a king, let alone how short he really was.

The king's green eyes seemed to smile and he sat up straight, an elbow rested upon the arm rest of his throne, as his hand touched his cheek. His armor sat atop of his royal attire, and his sword was near him, sheathed and perched nicely upon a table. As was custom in Camelot, the king reached for his weapon and stood from the seat. The knight watched his every move carefully, Gáe Buidhe remained on the dirt floor as Gáe Dearg was held tightly in the former knight's right hand.

"A duel, to prove that you are worthy of being a knight of Camelot, yes?" His royal highness inquired as he walked down from the elevated throne, down the dais, and looked upon the people, who cheered in approval.

"Anything that my King desires." Diarmuid bowed once again –his bronze eyes sparkling at the invitation of a duel –and kicked up Gáe Buidhe only to catch it with his left hand. "Whenever your majesty is ready." He smiled the monarch's way.

The king gripped the air as if he held the handle of a blade. Dimly, Diarmuid recalled stories, legends his father would grace him with when he was young, of the ruler of a far land who wielded an invisible blade that had been undefeated by many. Without having to even think, Diarmuid knew instantly that he was facing a high-caliber warrior.

The king took his sword and lifted it with a show of ease and practice that could only be achieved after many years. His eye twitched and he would have grunted because God only knew how long the sword really was. His amber orbs then skimmed across the crowd, catching the eyes of many ladies, who would squeal at his sight.

"Then let us begin." The ruler of Camelot directed the sword in the Irish warrior's way.

Diarmuid crossed his red lance with the invisible blade. He wondered if it was even a sword at all, but his suspicions were answered once the metal clacked with his own lance, and he was able to feel the force emitted on it with the sovereign's sword, a resounding aftershock that made his nerves scream and go numb for the briefest of moments.

Once the monarch had drawn his sword back, the duel had officially begun. Diarmuid opted for an attack first and the king took a defensive stance. The smaller man's feet were spread apart in order to center his balance as the opponent's first attack came into view. Instead of thrusting the lance forwards, the knight whipped it towards the potentate's side.

The king was light on his feet and quick to block his attack. Swift and agile, if one were specific on how the king moved. His sword was still invisible and the Irishman was at a disadvantage; there would be a hefty price in terms of sacrifice, should he seek to find the dimensions of the King's blade.

The yellow spear was discarded off onto the floor somewhere and the King immediately paid little to no attention to it, rather he was focused on the manner that the other expertly glided the red lance about his fingers, wasting not a moment to thrust the weapon towards him. Sounds of appreciation and awe filled the atmosphere as the crowd intently watched the two warriors attack one another in a fatal dance.

It was the monarch's turn to strike, and he refused to be cornered by the other male any longer, for both the sake of his dignity and for the sake of tactics and strategy. The invisible sword swerved around the lance and the royal managed to push the Irishman away before he brought the pommel of the sword up to his chest. The blonde's green orbs narrowed in complete and utter concentration as he thrust the blade towards the other warrior.

The foreigner dodged it and tumbled away a little bit, making sure not to show the weakness he so had demonstrated seconds prior to his recovery. He fell into a defensive stance, with muscles tensed like a feline about to pounce. Diarmuid tried to find a way to determine the length of the ruler's blade, and an idea suddenly occured to him. He would show an opening and catch the sword with his lance, with a quick glide from base to tip, his estimate would only miss by mere millimetres; that was what he was to do.

Maybe the royal had anticipated the move or maybe it was simply by chance, but he ignored the opening and stepped back a little bit. There was so much he could do in order to let his long sword reach the lancer's body. Fighting a Lancer was much more difficult and rather challenging, but he tried to get past his advantage, although he also had one of his own.

Diarmuid made an effort to bite back a remark, after the king had so expertly avoided his trap; it was probably much too obvious, now that he had gone back to it. The monarch had a slight hesitation for some odd reason and his assaults returned. The sword wielder began to tire as the battle bore on in the same way all battles did_—_in scathing slow motion, yet everything happened at once. The King's arms threatened to sink from the weight of the sword, but years of experience prevented him from doing so. Meanwhile, the lancer only needed to thrust and plunge the weapons_—_which happened to be much lighter than a sword, the King noted_—_ forward.

After dodging a couple of his thrusts the shorter male decided the best plan of action would be to attack. Swinging his sword to be able to hit the towering adversary, he missed, but managed to scratch the other's face with the tip of the weapon. A thin line of blood welled from the shallow wound, and a single drop of blood made its way down the lancer's face, trailing from his cheekbone to the chin.

"You are rather talented, my King." Diarmuid smirked, once Arthur had caught his lance with the invisible sword. Suddenly the smaller man stood at his elbow, locking his spear had against the King's own armor-clad wrists, their bodies in close contact. Diarmuid could feel the ice-cold of the armor's metal seep into his skin, as if the metal itself was making a conscious effort to numb him to the world.

"As are you," he said in response. Arthur maneuvered his sword and his own arms in such a way that as he pushed his small body against the Irishman, he twisted Diarmuid's wrists, forcing him to drop his lance, leaving him weaponless. "...but not as much as I would have expected from the First Spear of Fianna."

"My king, you must not underestimate me." He let a chuckle slip, and from the floor the yellow lance appeared; as if summoned, and launched it into his hands almost like it had been shot from a canon that sent its ammunition vertically into the heavens. He was quick to block Arthur's strong and otherwise near-fatal attack.

People gasped, taking a brief second to process what happened. It didn't take long for them to cheer, and the warriors had almost forgotten that they had a crowd of onlookers, for they were too focused on one another. Diarmuid thrust the lance forwards but stopped himself mid-lunge, as he did not want to hurt his king.

"Are you holding back, my good sir?" Pendragon grunted as he fended off an attack.

"I do not wish to hurt you." He huffed, holding the yellow lance with his right hand and wiping the sweat from his brow with the other.

"We dare you." Arthur laughed nonchalantly, almost as though saying he was not at all offended by Diarmuid's sudden halt.

Diarmuid sighed loudly as he bent to retrieve his red lance and rose. "As my King so wishes," he said, bowing low.

"Entertain Us."

The tall man couldn't help but smirk at the king's remark. "Of course, if my King so wills it."

The fight began once more and he would not hold back this time around, for he had so allowed him to fight his best. It was only fair if he was to show the royal how good of a knight he could be.

The invisible sword clashed against his yellow lance once more, but this time around; he used his red lance to trip the shorter man. The king fell to the floor and Diarmuid held the yellow lance to his throat. "I bet you had never seen that coming, My King."

"And We bet you that you had not seen Our sword either." Arthur laughed as the foreigner noticed that the hilt of the sword was indeed pointing to his chest and he was suddenly aware of the sharp, cold metal point on his sternum, millimeters away from slicing him.

Diarmuid dropped the lance and lent his ruler a hand. The male declined and quickly stood up in one swift and graceful movement. Arthur turned to the crowd and viewed the people as they cheered. "Should he be my knight?" He asked the crowd and the people cried in approval. The king smiled in agreement. "And so, there is but one last step," he announced.

Arthur turned back to the lancer. "You must be of noble blood."

Diarmuid's smile dropped and he licked his lower lip to moisten it, suddenly feeling dried out and distraught, like a shark stranded on a beach, disoriented and left to die. "But my King, I was told that-"

"It matters not what you are told. Are you of noble blood; yes or nay? A simple question; one you must answer." Pendragon interrupted him, surveying him a couple of times, his gaze dropping from the taller male's eyes to his feet and back up once again. He seemed perfect for a knight; stature wise and his fighting style was not severely flawed. But rules were rules, and even if Arthur was the King; he too was a subject of the Law.

"Nay, your highness." He gulped.

"Then," the monarch sighed, "there is nothing We can do but to send you away, courageous subject." Arthur said the lines as if they were well-rehearsed, said many times in the same clear and solemn tone, but his eyes conveyed genuine sadness.

"You Highness, please-"

"We will not change Our mind." King Arthur Pendragon blinked and turned away to leave the Arena. "You must surely understand," he said, "it is but the Law that wills it to be so."

Diarmuid clenched his jaw and grit his teeth; he had travelled all the way from Ireland to England because of complications he would like to forget, but his heart was always into knighthood and he had so wished for the sovereign to accept him.

Heart pounding, he yelled in such a way that hushed all whispers, in a way that betrayed his raw emotions of frustration and desire, proclaiming, "I am the son of Aengus!"

The blond male's head whipped towards Diarmuid and he had a look of slight horror and disbelief on his face, eyes narrowed as though seeking out lies. "Aengus? You are his son? Impossible! He hath no son, no heir."

"His adoptive son; I still do not know of my real father. But Aengus is my protector and caretaker, I am by law his son, his only heir," Diarmuid replied to the king's harsh remark.

"What is it that you call yourself, First Spear of Fianna?"

"Diarmuid Ua Duibhne." The response was loud enough for the Arena to hear, echoing in through the stands of the spectators. The King's eyes of emerald widened in shock.

"You must surely be jesting."

"I am he whom I have announced."

"Then why should I accept you as a knight of Camelot if you so have abandoned the Fianna? Will you not do the same to the Round? And I so was informed, you were dead." Camelot's King stepped closer towards the male and eyed him once more. "The beauty mark under the right eye and amazing lancing skills; you indeed are Diarmuid." It was a whisper, more to himself, but the other man nodded.

"Fionn and Cormac have been the ones to exile me, my King. I am only alive due to my father's aid." It was hard for him to admit it, but it was something that he thought was important, especially with the fact that it was the truth and he could no longer keep secrets from his newfound king.

"But We are not your King, Diarmuid. I have much faith in both Fionn and Mac Airt and if they have exiled you from Ireland, then it is best for Us to exile you from Camelot as well."

"No," Diarmuid pleaded, "my King, please do not do that. Fionn has taken a personal dislike to me that I have no fault in. Please, give me a chance to prove myself a worthy Knight of Camelot."

"There is only so much you can do." Arthur bit his lower lip and sighed, something seemed to pull him to be a little more merciful with the male. "Alright, Irishman, but you must tell Us why you have been exiled. Come along now." He turned his body towards the castle. "We must hold an interview."

Diarmuid followed in pursuit and never did he mind that they had left the Arena. Firstly, there had been no actual tournament, only some fights to entertain the King, since he so decided to make an appearance. He had been helped upon a horse and Diarmuid had climbed his own, to follow the king back to the castle with the rest of the Knights of the Round; they were to aid him in his decision making and direct him to making the best possible choice for Camelot.

Upon arriving, they were ushered to the throne room and all the Knights took their place at the Round Table. Diarmuid was made to stand before the King as everyone had to face in his general direction. The many pairs of eyes fell upon him and he immediately became uneasy, it was evident that people did not like him much from the very beginning, but there was a kind face in the crowd, a blond man that sat close to the King himself.

Arthur Pendragon sat at his respectful chair at the table and faced it towards the male. The interview_—_or interrogation_—_would commence, and Diarmuid would have to answer all the questions with every bit of information the royal and the council needed in order to make the educated decision. "There are much too many questions that We would like to ask you; but let us begin with the most simple, my fair Knight of the Fianna: Why is it that you have come to Us?"


	5. May Your Dreams Come to Reality

**~Author's Note~**

**Hey guys! Merry Christmasssss! How are you all doing? Good? Great? I hope so! Sorry for the late update and all, My friend has to edit it before I publish it and I would just like to thank her so much because she is amazing! Can we just give her a round of applause?**

** I wrote applause many times and arranged it in a circle formation to give a 'round of applause' but the site was mean and the circle didn't really work out, sorry x.x**

**Anyway, moving on, Merry Christmas again and have an amazing Christmas and I hope you get all you need and want. Thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoy the chapter and I love you all! **

**Sincerely with Christmas Joy,**

**~Ms. AtomicBomb**

* * *

><p>"If there is anything," Diarmuid began, "that I want more than anything in my entire life; it is to be a knight. That is why I have come." His voice was clear and audible for the entire table<strong>—<strong>of what looked like twenty or thirty men**—**to hear him speak. No one said a word until the blond man next to the king whispered something and the entire table was alive with whispers, roaring and alive, like the soft flame of a hearth, speaking of doubts and hopes for the male.

"Yes, We understand _that_." The King sighed loudly. "But _why_ Camelot and why not any other kingdom, maybe Cornwall, or what not?"

Diarmuid licked his lower lip and realized that his heart was pumping at a higher rate than usual. In fact, it seemed to be thumping audibly. How everyone in the room did not hear it was a miracle in and of itself. "Well," he started once again, "I have always admired Camelot and its way of ruling. Your specific rule, my king." He had opened his mouth to speak once again, but he was interrupted.

"But We are not your King, Diarmuid. We are practically your enemy, so why should We accept you? It makes little sense when you are the son of a god. You could be in any kingdom you want, you simply say the word, and Aengus will snap his fingers and you're there. But why Camelot, when you know much too well, that even the strongest of spells do not work on me?" The King's emerald eyes bore into his own, beseeching, curious.

Diarmuid had kept silent until the King was done with his words. "Because Camelot is just. The Fianna have the same principles and wishes for the country as the Round Table. To be a knight is my calling, but because of things that occurred to me without my consent, I am stripped of my wish. My love for Knighthood exceeds any other love I have, but my loyalty will stay but with one that does not betray me. I would have followed Fionn and Cormac to the ends of the world, if they will it.

"But—" he broke off, breaking the smooth façade of a confident knight, and if only for the slightest of moments, the barest of seconds, allowed no more than a glimpse of the rather nervous and worried man." But how can you love those that want your head on a pike? After near death, I was restored to my natural mentality and no longer under a spell, that was when I realized that I should have never trusted Fionn, he had wished my death and destroyed my loyalty and dignity in Ireland. As much as I love my country, I can never return, and so I seek refuge in Camelot."

At this point, his amber eyes glittered, with the promise of a dedicated knight who would follow whom he chose to the ends of the world. "I wanted a new start, where I could embed my loyalty, where I could trust those around me; Camelot offered hope for me. When I heard that you have knights with no noble status, I realized that you are the most fair King that I have ever heard of. Never has there been this kind of equality and love for the people of a country. I came hoping that I could forget my past, forget all the pain I had ever endured. I have no home, and I wish Camelot to be my only home. I want it to be where I can return from battle and rest, where I feel safe and where everything I will ever know will be perfect."

"You mentioned a spell—what is the sorcery of which you speak?" Green orbs burned into him, like some kind of iron plate branding his very soul. _Piercing, _that was the word. More piercing, dare he say, than his own lances

"Years ago, I met Youth. It was a rainy way and there was a knock on the cabin door. No one wanted to answer it, but the knock persisted. I could not fall asleep, knowing that there was someone outside in the pouring rain. So I opened the door and, much to my surprise, I saw a rather deprecated woman, older than myself and rather short compared to many other women. If she had once been lovely, time had not been kind to her, so I had thought." Gooseflesh ran up and down Diarmuid's arms, the ery thought of that night leaving the chill of the rain and something else that he couldn't quite place.

"I allowed her in, and since my bed was next to the fire place I had lent it to her for the night. In the early hours of the day, I sat up from the floor to view a beautiful young lady in my bed, and with a few words of thanks, she kissed my cheek. She introduced herself as Youth, and insisted for me to marry her. After I declined, she kissed my cheek again, and with laugh that seemed less mocking, and more wicked, she whispered with a tone that must have bewitched many at that point, _'You will never find someone that truly loves you, and you will come back running into my arms once again.'_ Her green eyes held a depth of ancient knowledge, of magic. I remember very well because since then, I have acquired a new companion, and I can never rid myself of it. About a year ago, I met someone I wish I never had. Beautiful, yes, but smitten. Falling for me due to my beauty mark, she teased and teased me, trying to make me fall for her, in one night. The night of Fionn's and her marriage, she bewitched me. That is why I am here today."

"Oh, was that young lady Gráinne? We had heard and even had been invited to that wedding, but the Saxons did not allow Us to attend. Now We know how much of a chaos it truly was." The king supressed his laughter. "So you swept her off her feet?"

"Not my intention, and never had I felt a single thing for her, if it weren't for her Geass. After seeking help from the High King, he exiled me. Trying to flee the country, I was cornered by the Fianna, where Fionn _opted_ for peace, and after a couple of weeks, he asked me to hunt a boar with him. I could have never felt so accepted in my entire life. This was when he deliberately killed me... They say that a man-"

"Who drinks waters from the hands of Fionn will live." Arthur smirked. "A legend, is it real?"

"It is, my king, very true indeed. And he could have saved me, if he had truly forgiven me. But envy is the most horrific beast, and as he would pick up the water from the creak near by, he would allow it to slip away with my life. I died at his hands—how can I trust such a master? Betrayal, at my own liege's wish. I no longer desire such a ruler. But you, you are fair and just. At your highness' command; I would lose my life for you."

"Does your loyalty to Ireland restrict that?"

"Ireland has betrayed me, turned its back to me, forgetting of a loyal servant who I was—it will never want me back."

"Well," Arthur smiled, "now that you've told Us your entire life story, the council and We will discuss the decision and We believe that it could be much better if you would kindly exit the throne room, so that the council and We could have a discussion. Now, if you would be so kind," the male glanced towards the door, and Diarmuid understood his cue to leave. He straightened his back, and exited the room.

It had not been much of an inquiry, if anything, it was story telling time. No one had asked him many questions. And everything was laid out in the story before them. His intentions and history were clear, nothing was left out intentionally. He had been waiting for a rather long a while, only hearing murmurs and white silence from the big room. Letting out a shaky breath, he tried to prepare himself to keep on moving. Maybe he would simply settle down somewhere, give everything up... perhaps even knighthood.

The enormous door creaked open, and a messenger came out to greet him. "The king calls for you." A scrawny man, he was. A small moustache growing thin atop his big lips. Dark chocolate curly brown hair as neat as it could possibly be, and eyes almost as dark as the night, blinking ever so often; the male led Diarmuid back inside the room.

"Well, Diarmuid, the council and We have decided that you may remain in Camelot. There will be no exile, but you must prove yourself worthy of being a knight. The Round only allows the most loyal and the most strong; you must demonstrate your greatness to Us and then you will either be Knighted or overlooked. Will you be able to accept?"

"What ever my King wills, I will do. My loyalty lies within you." Trying to supress his pure and utter joy, he prayed that the King would accept him to be a knight and that he would be able to prove himself.

"Good. We hope that you are right. We will have a room in the barracks prepared for you. You begin on the morrow by cleaning the stables, of course you will do this for a week and then, depending on how pristine you are able to keep them, you will be promoted. This is all done whilst you train."

"Yes, my King, I will do as you please. I give you all my gratitude." He knelt before the king, bowing his head and standing when told to do so. Diarmuid was ushered from the throne room and then taken all the way to the soldier's quarters, which was a simple section of the castle—the left wing of the castle, to be more precise. Rooms were shared with two to four people, but depending on one's rank, they could have their own room. The Irishman's room was rather small for two bunk beds, but he was the lowest rank at the given moment, so he didn't argue.

In fact, he remained absolutely ecstatic.

* * *

><p>"The left bottom bunk is yours, the other can meet you by nightfall. The King wishes the best for you and hopes you to be up by the break of dawn. He will check on you at least once a day, maybe twice if you're lucky." His escort had been the blond male that had always kept an eye on him. "My name is Gawain, I'm a cousin of the King and I could not help but fancy you. You hold such values that make me much too proud to be a knight. I know that you haven't said anything of what you believe in, but I can see it in your face, so I thank you, for coming to support his majesty."<p>

"Thank you for allowing me to be here. I offer my sincerest gratitude to both you and his Majesty." Diarmuid bowed to Gawain and the other male dismissed it with a flattered chuckle.

"There is no need to act so formal, see me as a friend." With a glance out the window, Gawain noticed how the darkness had settled upon the night. Candles and torches were being lit in the halls in the absence of daylight. "I must return to my own quarters. I will see you on the morrow, then." And with a simple goodbye, the male was gone, disappearing behind the door not to be seen for the rest of the day.

It was quiet and he could barely hear the outside world. It was very refreshing for him, to be able to start anew -forgetting what had happened to him countless times before. He was truly starting to feel like he belonged somewhere, and his heart hoped that Camelot would be that place.

Because if not, what other place on Earth could he call home?


End file.
